ADDRESS 


delivered  at  the  funeral  of 


HORATIO  V.  BRINSMADE, 


IN  ST.  TAUL’S  CHURCH,  TROY, 


<®tt  IBriltttsitinj,  3tlij  281(1,  1852, 


ROBERT  B.  VM  KLEECK,  D.  D, 


Rector  of  said  Church. 


*  Wisdom  is  the  grey  hair,  and  an  unspotted  life  old  age.” 


TROY,  N.  Y. : 

PRESS  OF  R.  V.  WILSON,  CC'XXV  RIVER- ST. 

1852. 

THE  UMMRT  OF  THE 
SEP  1419215 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


•  * 


Troy,  July  30th,  1852. 


& 

j  8fS1v 

' 


\a 

«V 


1r 


Rev.  R.  B.  Van  Kleeck,  D.  D. — 

Dear  Sir :  The  undersigned  having  listened  with  deep  interest  to 
your  discourse  on  the  death  of  our  deceased  friend  Horatio  W.  Brinsmade, 
and  feeling  how  appropriate  your  remarks  were  to  the  occasion,  earnestly 
solicit  a  copy  for  publication. 

It  is  seldom  that  we  are  reminded  in  a  voice  so  emphatic,  how  uncertain 
is  human  life.  The  death  of  a  young  person  is  at  any  time  peculiarly 
afflicting;  but  when  one  whose  exemplary  character,  brilliant  talents,  inge¬ 
nuous  disposition,  and  noble  qualities,  had  endeared  him  to  us  with  almost 
fraternal  ties,  is  stricken  down,  the  blow  is  doubly  severe.  And  while  we 
feel  deeply  sensible  how  unavailing  are  human  efforts  to  afford  consolation 
under  such  circumstances,  would,  nevertheless,  earnestly  hope  that  you  will 
comply  with  the  wishes  of  a  bereaved  community,  as  expressed  through 
Your  obedient  servants,* 

JNO.  B.  PIERSON, 

E.  WARREN  PAINE, 

C.  R.  CHURCH, 

W.  H.  TILLINGHAST, 

I.  McCONIHE,  Jr., 

WM.  E.  HAGAN, 

J.  H.  KNICKERBACKER, 
WM.  F.  BURDEN. 

*  The  bearers  at  his  funeral. 


THE  U8RART  OF  THE 
SEP  1  4  V",<! 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


_ 


4 52435 


Tkoy,  Avgust  %d}  1852. 

My  Dear  Sirs ;  I  regret  that  I  could  not  give  a  more  prompt  and 
favorable  response  to  your  gratifying  request. 

The  address  which  you  ask  for  publication  was  extemporaneous  for  the 
most  part,  having  been  delivered  from  short  notes.  It  was  a  heartfelt  tri¬ 
bute  to  our  lamented  friend,  and  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  meet  your 
desire  to  do  honor  to  his  memory  and  to  improve  his  death,  if  it  is  in  my 
power. 

I  will  employ  my  earliest  leisure  in  endeavoring  to  write  out  the  address, 
and  if  I  can  make  it  a  meet  memorial  of  departed  worth,  and  a  suitable 
response  to  your  good  desires  to  cherish  his  memory  and  to  profit  by  his 
loss,  I  will  place  it  at  your  disposal. 

Meanwhile,  with  the  sincere  desire  and  prayer  that  our  loss  and  his  gain 
may  be  for  the  spiritual  profit  of  many  of  his  friends, 

I  am,  with  sincere  regard. 

Your  friend,  f 

R.  B.  VAN  KLEECK. 

To  Messrs.  Jno.  B.  Pierson,  E.  Warren  Paine,  Wm.  H.  Tillinghast,  Chas.  R. 

Church,  William  E.  Hagan,  I.  McConihe,  Jr.,  Wm.  A.  Burden,  J.  H.  Knicker- 


BACKER. 


ADDRESS. 


There  are  times,  my  friends,  which  task  our 
faith  to  the  utmost,  and  when  our  only  refuge  is  in 
patient  waiting  and  meek  submission.  It  is  so  to¬ 
day.  We  have  now  to  do,  with  Him,  “  whose 
way  is  in  the  sea,  and  his  path  in  the  deep  waters, 
while  his  footsteps  are  not  known,”  and  while  our 
feeble  faith  in  vain  attempts  to  penetrate  the 
“  clouds  and  darkness  which  are  round  about  Him,” 
and  to  look  into  the  sea  of  glass  which  is  before 
the  throne,  where  his  judgments  are  made  mani¬ 
fest,  there  comes  to  us  a  voice  from  the  most  ex¬ 
cellent  glory,  “  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God,” 
for  “  what  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou 
shalt  know  hereafter.”  We  bow  our  souls,  in 
meek  submission  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  and  fain 
would  say,  “  Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed 
good  in  thy  sight.” 


6 


This  hour  is  sacred  to  the  claims  of  sorrow  and 
of  sympathy, — for  deep  sorrow  fills  our  hearts,  and 
our  tenderest  sympathies  are  stirred  within  us  to 
their  lowest  depths  while  now  “  we  weep  with 
them  that  weep.”  To  human  view  alone,  and  rea¬ 
soning  as  the  world  would  judge,  this  crushing 
blow  has  nothing  to  relieve  it,  and  this  dark  day 
is  all  sadness  and  all  gloom.  But  in  the  goodness 
of  God,  and  even  to  our  weak  faith,  it  is  sweetly 
mingled  with  mercy,  and  full  of  precious  con¬ 
solation.  t 

There  lies  before  us  a  young  man,  who  was  just 
entering  upon  life  with  high  hopes  and  bright  pros¬ 
pects — an  only  son,  an  only  brother,  cherished  and 
doated  on  as  few  are  loved — one  who  from  child¬ 
hood  has  been  all  that  fond  parental  pride  and  love 
could  wish,  endowed  by  nature  with  fine  powers  of 
intellect,  which  were  well  cultivated  and  developed 
by  diligent  study,  and  a  thorough  education — one 
who  through  his  college  course  maintained  a  cha¬ 
racter  fre^e  from  reproach,  and  was  alike  respected 
and  beloved  by  his  instructors  and  companions — 
one  of  warm  affections,  “  tuned  to  finer  issues,” 
formed  for  the  highest,  holiest  sensibilities  of  love 
and  friendship,  and  who  was  prized  and  cherished 
as  a  friend  by  many  a  noble  and  ingenuous  youth 


7 


■ — one  who  was  not  only  free  from  the  vices  to 
which  his  age  and  circumstances  were  exposed, 
but  even  from  youthful  follies,  too — his  tastes  pure 
and  elevated,  his  wishes  moderate,  his  views  true 
and  just  —  he  was  conscientious,  noble,  high- 
minded,  honorable,  and  as  well  fitted  to  adorn  as 
to  enjoy  the  life  which  God  had  given  him. 

He  had  chosen  for  his  future  course  in  life  the 
medical  profession,  and  had  entered  on  its  high 
pursuit  with  diligence  and  ardor.  In  one  short  * 
year  he  had  so  commended  himself  to  his  instruc¬ 
tors,  and  made  such  rapid  progress  and  profi¬ 
ciency,  as  to  give  high  hopes  and  good  promise  of 
success  and  usefulness.  And  here,  in  passing,  let 
me  say  of  this  high  and  honorable  calling,  that  it 
is  second  only  in  importance  and  in  dignity,  to  the 
the  sacred  ministry  of  the  Gospel  and  the  church 
of  Christ.  It  shares  with  us  the  best  opportuni¬ 
ties  of  seeing  and  knowing  the  wisdom,  goodness, 
and  power  of  God,  in  that  “  we  are  so  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  made,”  and  in  all  the  mystery  of  life 
and  of  death.  It  is  brought  with  us  into  close, 
familiar,  and  endearing  contact,  with  many  and  af¬ 
fecting  scenes  of  sorrow,  and  of  suffering,  well 
calculated  to  draw  out  the  finer  feelings  and  ten- 
derest  sympathies  of  Our  common  nature,  and  it  is 


8 


called  with  us  to  tread  with  silent,  solemn  step, — 

“  The  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate, 

Privileged  beyond  the  common  walks  of  virtuous  life, 

Quite  on  the  verge  of  Heaven/’ 

and  there  may  see,  appreciate,  and  admire  the 
power  and  consolations  of  religion  in  the  weary 
hours  of  sickness,  and  on  the  bed  of  death. 

If  the  poet  said  with  truth — 

“  An  undevout  astronomer  is  mad,” 

then  how  sad,  how  strange  the  anomaly  of  one 
well  taught  in  all  the  laws  and  mysteries  of  human 
life,  disease  and  death,  and  ever  conversant  with 
scenes  of  sorrow  and  of  suffering,  and  with  the 
need  and  power  of  Christian  faith  and  hope,  and 
yet  careless,  undevout,  and  unbelieving.  Would 
to  God  that  all  the  members  of  this  honorable  pro¬ 
fession  were  not  only  skilful  and  beloved  physi¬ 
cians  of  the  body,  but  humble  and  devout  believers 
in  the  truth  and  faith  of  Jesus  Christ.  They  thus 
might  be  with  us,  our  fellow  workers  and  fellow 
helpers,  unto  the  Gospel  of  God,  and  turn  to  good 
account  that  tender  love  and  full  implicit  confi¬ 
dence,  which  is  their  recompense  for  kind  and 
faithful  services.  By  timely  warnings  of  danger, 
which  would  be  from  them  received  and  heeded, 
by  opening  up  the  way  for  us,  and  commending  to 


9 


the  sick  the  soothing  and  sustaining  power  of 
prayer,  and  judicious  services  and  consolations,  or 
by  a  word  in  season,  of  exhortation  and  of  com¬ 
fort,  which  would  aid  their  treatment  of  the  body, 
and  elevate  each  member  of  the  healing  art  to  the 
high  dignity  and  privilege  of  “  a  physician  of  the 
soul,”  they  might  do  much*  very  much,  to  soothe 
the  fainting  heart,  restore  the  failing  flesh,  give  to 
the  body  health,  and  profit  to  the  soul.  Such  a 
physician,  had  his  life  been  spared,  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  our  young  friend  would  have 
been — adding  to  knowledge,  judgment,  and  expe¬ 
rience  of  mere  human  power,  the  skill  and  kind¬ 
ness  of  a  tender  sympathy  and  Christian  faith. 

But  soon  and  suddenly  there  was  discovered 
that  an  insidious  worm,  at  the  root  of  this  high 
health  and  manly  form,  had  begun  its  fearful  work, 
and  a  chilling  blight,  and  dark  and  gathering  sha¬ 
dows  came  over  these  bright  prospects  and  these 
budding  hopes.  A  short,  but  weary,  illness  of  four 
months,  of  alternate  fears  and  hopes,  have  weak¬ 
ened  his  strength  in  the  way,  have  broken  off*  his 
noble  purposes,  and  our  fond  hopes,  and  here  he 
lies,  with  only  twenty  summers  o’er  his  head,  and 
we  are  gathered  in  sorrow  and  sadness,  for  his 

early  burial. 

2 


10 


But  it  is  our  cheering  comfort  now  to  know  that 
he  had  early,  wisely  made  his  choice,  “  that  better 
part,  which  neither  life  nor  death  could  take  away, 
and  that  in  his  warm  pursuit  of  useful  knowledge, 
he  neglected  not  that  higher  wisdom,  whose  be¬ 
ginning  is  the  fear  of  God,”  and  whose  eternal 
issues  are  in  the  knowledge  and  the  bliss  of  Hea¬ 
ven.  He  was  early  and  decidedly  religious.  In 
him,  the  early  grace,  which  God  had  given,  was 
cherished  and  developed  by  careful  training,  ear¬ 
nest  prayers,  pious  counsels  and  instructions,  and 
a  good  example,  in  the  genial,  favored  precincts  of 
a  happy  Christian  home,  crowned  and  rewarded  by 
his  own  choice  and  diligence,  and  steadily  pro¬ 
gressive  piety  and  grace.  A  strong,  deep  tone  of 
religious  principle,  for  one  so  young,  remarkable — 
firm,  stern,  unmoveable — ran  through  all  his  pur¬ 
poses  and  hopes,  his  conduct  and  his  course,  and 
underlaid  as  with  a  strong  foundation,  the  symme¬ 
try  and  firmness  of  his  beautiful  consistency.  He 
was  thus  pure  and  beautiful  in  the  loveliness  of 
mere  human  virtue,  and  free  from  every  youthful 
spot  and  stain.  But  this  with  him  was  not  enough, 
nor  did  he  make  his  early,  steadfast  virtue  his 
boast  or  his  dependence.  He  felt  his  need  of  a 
better  righteousness,  of  a  higher  strength  than 


11 


even  his  own,  deep-rooted  as  it  was,  and  beautiful 
and  fruitful  as  it  seemed  already,  in  its  strong  pur¬ 
poses  and  budding  hopes.  He  ascribed  to  early 
grace,  his  early  piety  and  freedom  from  youthful 
vices  and  transgressions,  he  sought  in  the  Gospel 
of  God  for  pardon,  renewal,  grace,  and  strength  to 
do  his  will.  He  was  obedient,  too,  as  well  as 
humble.  He  early  ratified  his  vows  in  confirma¬ 
tion,  and  coming  to  the  Holy  Communion  of  the 
body  and  blood  of  Christ,  “  he  was  not  ashamed 
to  confess  the  faith  of  Christ  crucified,  and  man¬ 
fully  to  fight  under  his  banner  against  sin,  the 
world,  and  the  devil,  and  to  continue  Christ’s  faith¬ 
ful  soldier  and  servant  unto  his  life’s  end.”  In  this 
holy  fellowship  he  steadfastly  continued,  regularly 
and  devoutly  coming  to  this  holy  ordinance,  thus 
professing  openly  his  penitence  and  faith,  and  seek¬ 
ing  new  supplies  of  grace  and  strength,  to  do  and 
suffer  all  the  will  of  God.  He  here  received  it  for 
the  last  time  on  Easter  day ;  and  some  of  you  re¬ 
member  how  with  meek  penitence  and  patience, 
but  with  failing  strength,  he  at  this  altar  knelt,  his 
«  pale,  sweet  countenance  illumined  with  a  steadfast 

faith  and  an  undying  hope.  Sweet  day  for  such  a 
service,  and  for  such  a  place  in  the  heart’s  calen¬ 
der  of  soothing  memories,  and  sweet,  sustaining 


12 


hopes  of  “Jesus  and  the  resurrection.”  On  the 
last  Tuesday  he  again  received  it  on  his  couch  of 
weary  sickness,  which  soon  proved  his  bed  of 
death,  surrounded  by  the  loved  ones  of  his  heart, 
and  now  the  stricken,  yet  soothed  and  trusting 
mourners  at  his  early  bier.  Of  that  sweet  scene, 
so  calm,  and  solemn,  and  affecting,  I  need  not, 
should  not  speak ;  for  it  was  holy  ground,  and  its 
hallowed  memory  is  treasured  up  in  the  heart,  and 
in  Heaven.  His  whole  sickness  was  marked  by  a 
serious  devotion ;  books  of  religious  devotion  were 
his  choice  and  his  company,  and  thus  his  weary 
days  and  nights  flowed  smoothly  on,  soothed  and 
relieved  by  fond  affection  and  by  heavenly  truths 
and  hopes,  while  he  in  all  was  calm,  patient, 
strong,  steadfast,  hopeful,  cheerful,  until  death 
kindly  brought  relief,  and  as  we  marked  the  righ¬ 
teous,  radiant  pathway  of  his  setting  sun,  we  saw 
and  felt  “  that  his  end  was  peace.” 

We  have  in  his  short  life  and  early  death,  a 
warning  and  example  to  the  young.  You  see  to¬ 
day,  my  young  friends,  that  youth,  health,  and 
strength  are  no  shield  against  the  shafts  of  the  de¬ 
stroyer.  That  dear,  but  now  lifeless  form,  was 
young,  active,  strong,  buoyant  in  health  and  hope, 
with  no  constitutional  predisposition  to  disease. 


13 


and  no  long  warning  of  a  premature  decay.  But 
the  fell  destroyer  came,  and  sapping  the  sources  of 
his  life,  and  insidiously  undermining  the  firm  foun¬ 
dation  of  his  health  and  hopes,  has  taken  down  his 
manly  tabernacle,  now  ready  for  the  dust  of  death. 
It  is  but  one  short  year  since  he  left  with  signal 
credit  and  high  hopes,  the  loved  and  honored 
shades  of  his  alma  mater,  having  completed  his 
college  course,  and  received  her  honors  and  her 
blessing.  Since  that  time,  four  others  of  his  class 
(it  was  a  noble  class,  a  band  of  brothers  true  and 
strong  in  mind  and  heart),  have  been  removed  by 
death.  He  hoped  to-morrow  to  have  visited  again 
those  venerable  shades,  and  mingled  with  the 
scenes  and  loved  ones  of  his  college  life  ;  but  wdien 
to-morrow  dawns,  he  will  be  sleeping  in  his  sepul¬ 
chre,  and  the  deep  sigh  and  sorrowing  dirge,  will 
from  his  class,  and  college,  mourn  his  absence  and 
his  loss. 

Now,  what  security  have  you,  my  friends,  for 

9 

*  health  and  longer  life,  which  he  had  not  a  year 
ago  ?  It  would  seem  as  if  the  Providence  of  God 

'  was  kindly,  loudly  calling  on  the  young,  to  think 

of  death  and  to  prepare  to  meet  him.  In  the  last 
month,  three  members  of  this  congregation  have 
been  called  away,  all  under  thirty  years  of  age, 


14 


and  each  of  them  with  something  solemn  and  af¬ 
fecting  in  their  early  death.  How  do  these  many 
and  affecting  calls  sound  in  your  ears  and  hearts, 
the  needful  warning  words,  “  Remember  now  thy 
Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth,  before  the  evil 
days  come  and  the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou 
shalt  say  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them.”  These 
evil  days  may  come  to  you  in  weary  sickness  and 
in  early  death,  when  you  shall  go  to  your  long  home, 
and  the  mourners  go  about  the  streets;  “when 
the  silver  cord  shall  be  loosed  and  the  golden  bowl 
be  broken,  the  pitcher  shall  be  broken  at  the  foun¬ 
tain  and  the  wheel  be  broken  at  the  cistern.  Then 
shall  the  dust  return  to  earth  as  it  was,  and  the 
spirit  shall  return  to  God  who  gave  it.”  How 
does  a  scene  like  this  give  new,  affecting  force  to 
these  familiar  but  solemn  words,  and  how  do  they 
commend  the  early  wisdom  and  prudent  forecast, 

■which  in  life’s  brightest  morning,  remember  the 
dark  night  of  death,  and  in  early  piety  and  cher¬ 
ished  grace,  make  full  provision  for  a  longer  life,  • 
or  for  an  early  summons  to  the  grave  and  to  eter¬ 
nity.  You  have  here  a  bright  example  of  this  pru¬ 
dent  wisdom  and  this  early  grace.  Study  it  with 
earnest  contemplation,  follow  it  with  warm  desires, 
and  diligent  and  firm  resolve.  And  need  I  say, 


15 


how  such  a  scene  as  this,  and  such  a  life,  and  such 
a  death,  proclaim  through  all  the  devious  paths  of 
youthful  folly  and  temptation,  that  warning  voice 
of  God,  “  Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth, 
and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth,  and  walk  after  the  ways  of  thy  heart  and  the 
sight  of  thine  eyes,  but  know  tliou  that  for  all  these 
things  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment.”  Yes, 
God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment ,  though  thy 
heart  rejoice  in  evil  ways,  and  thine  eyes  blinded, 
see  no  danger  in  thy  wayward  path.  The  book 
of  God  records,  and  his  judgment  will  reveal  and 
recompense  thy  carnal  mirth,  thine  idle  words,  thy 
wicked  jests,  thy  fearful  oaths,  thy  deadly  cups,  for 
“  it  is  appointed  unto  all  men,  and  for  you ,  too,  * 
once  to  die ,  and  after  this  the  judgment.” 

Let  me  beseech  you  then,  here,  in  the  house  of 
God,  while  your  ingenuous  hearts  are  moved  by 
such  a  scene  as  this — here,  over  the  remains  of 
one  you  loved  and  honored  for  his  manly  virtues, 
to  resolve  that  if  temptation  shall  assail  your  hearts, 
or  lure  your  feet  astray,  you  will  resist  it  in  the 
strength  of  God;  “  that  you  will  avoid  it,  pass  not 
by  it,  turn  from  it  and  pass  away,”  remembering 
that  life  is  short,  that  death  is  near,  and  judgment 
sure,  that  a  good  conscience  is  a  continual  feast, 


16 


“and  that  wisdom’s  ways  are  ways  of  pleasant¬ 
ness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.” 

To  him  whom  we  now  mourn,  religion  was  the 
one  thing  needful,  the  foundation  of  his  hopes,  the 
pole  star  of  his  life,  his  stay  and  strength  in  weary 
sickness,  and  his  support  and  consolation  in  the 
hour  of  death.  Seek  it  then  earnestly  and  now, 
with  all  your  heart  and  soul,  as  you  would  like  him 
desire  to  live,  and  as  with  him  you  would  be  ready 
and  prepared  to  die.  It  may  be  that  his  early  and 
lamented  death  may  do  more  good  than  could  his 
useful  life  prolonged,  in  stirring  up  good  desires, 
and  giving  a  new  impulse  to  hidden  springs  of  pur¬ 
poses  and  conduct,  whose  course  and  issues  never 
will  be  known,  but  in  the  light  of  the  judgment 
and  eternity.  So  let  it  be,  thou  wise  and  chasten¬ 
ing  God,  “  who  bringest  light  out  of  darkness,”  and 
“  who  doest  all  things  well.” 

We  have  here,  too,  a  signal  instance  of  the 
power  of  grace,  to  break  the  charm  and  tender  ties 
of  life,  and  to  sustain  and  strengthen  even  the 
young,  at  the  approach  and  in  the  hour  of  death. 
What  less  than  grace  divine  could  have  made  him 
so  resigned  to  part  with  life,  and  to  meet  death  so 
calmly  ?  He  had  much  to  live  for  :  friends,  many, 
fond  and  kind,  and  prospects  bright  and  flattering, 


17 


were  spread  out  before  him,  of  usefulness,  success 
and  happiness  in  life  ;  but  all  these,  at  the  call  of 
God,  though  not  without  a  struggle,  he  quietly  gave 
up.  And  when  at  length  death  came,  he  was  not 
taken  by  surprise  ;  but  on  his  being  told  that  he 
was  sinking  rapidly,  he  calmly  said,  “  I  have  anti¬ 
cipated  it,  and  am  prepared  to  meet  it.”  To  the 
loved  ones  round  his  dying  couch  he  said,  “  Weep 
not  for  me,”  and  in  quietness  and  confidence  rallied 
his  failing  strength  for  the  last  conflict  and  the  final 
hour.  When  at  the  still  hour  of  midnight  there 
was  heard  the  cry,  “  Behold  the  bridegroom  corn- 
eth,”  he  asked  for  prayers,  to  trim  his  lamp  with 
dying  grace  ;  and  when  at  that  sad  hour  I  stood 
beside  his  calm,  quiet  bed  of  death,  it  was  a  privi¬ 
lege  to  be  desired,  and  long  remembered,  to  cheer 
with  words  of  truth  and  hope,  and  to  commend  in 
prayer  to  God,  his  patient,  trusting  soul,  just  ready 
for  its  passage.  He  had  asked  to  have  responsively 
repeated  for  his  comfort,  that  song  of  peace  and 
triumph  for  the  Christian  pilgrim,  the  23d  Psalm ; 
and  dwelt  himself  with  trembling  voice,  but  ear¬ 
nest  faith  and  solemn  emphasis,  upon  those  cheer¬ 
ing  words, “  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou 

art  with  me,  thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort 
3 


18 


me.”  Taking  up  from  me,  the  soothing  and  sus-* 
taining  words,  he  calmly  said,  “  Lord  Jesus,  re¬ 
ceive  my  spirit.”  And  when  asked  if  he  found  any 
thing  terrible  in  death,  he  sweetly  answered,  only 
the  physical  suffering ,  which  told  its  sting  was  gone, 
its  bitterness  was  past ;  and  then  he  added  in  a 
trembling  tone  of  solemn  tenderness — 

“  ’Tis  not  the  whole  of  life  to  live, 

Nor  all  of  death  to  die.” 

In  these  words  he  uttered  a  high  truth,  and  by  it, 
“  He  being  dead  yet  speaketh,”  for  this  short  span 
is  not  the  whole  of  life,  which  stretches  far  beyond 
the  grave  and  time,  and  through  eternity,  and  death 
is  but  the  entrance  on  its  issues,  either  of  joy  or 
woe  forever  and  forever  !  With  words  and  hopes 
like  these,  calm  and  serene,  he  passed  the  vale  of 
death ;  strong,  patient,  cheerful,  trustful,  until  he 
sweetly  fell  asleep  in  Jesus,  “  and  came  off  more 
than  conqueror  through  him  that  loved  him.” 

And  now  why  weep  we  so,  above  his  early  bier  ? 
We  asked  life  for  him  earnestly  of  God,  with  oft- 
repeated  prayers  and  flowing  tears,  and  yet  in  meek 
submission  to  his  will,  and  can  we  now  complain 
that  God  has  “  given  him  life ,  even  length  of  days 
for  ever  and  ever.”  Is  not  the  life  immortal  and 
eternal,  on  the  employments  and  the  joys  of  which 


19 


he  has  the  earlier  entered,  better  far  than  any  life 
on  earth,  however  long,  honored,  happy,  or  useful  ? 
His  prospects  here  indeed  were  fair  and  bright ; 
but  what  were  they  to  the  brighter  prospects  of 
eternity  and  immortality  ?  His  powers  of  intellect 
were  high  and  full  of  promise,  in  their  training 
here,  for  useful  exercise  and  full  development ;  but 
these  powers  now  ennobled,  purified,  and  raised 
above  the  mists  of  earth  and  sin,  have  entered  upon 
the  better  training  of  the  Father  of  lights,  and  may 
range  at  large  in  the  higher  knowledge  of  the  invi¬ 
sible  and  the  eternal.  He  had  chosen  for  his  life, 
a  high  profession  and  an  honored  calling ;  yet  we 
know  that  its  most  honored  and  successful  course, 
is  full  of  care  and  toil,  oft  thankless,  unappreci¬ 
ated,  unrequited,  save  by  a  good  conscience  and 
approving  heaven.  He  has  been  spared  this  care 
and  toil,  and  earlier  brought  to  study  and  to  know 
the  full  remedial  power  of  “  the  Balm  in  Gilead 
and  the  good  physician  there,”  to  eat  the  fruit  of 
*  the  tree  of  life,  whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of 

the  nations,  and  to  breathe  freely  and  to  walk  at 
w  large,  strong  in  immortal  youth,  in  that  better, 

brighter  land,  “  where  the  inhabitant  shall  no  more 
say,  I  am  sick,  for  the  people  that  dwell  therein 
shall  be  forgiven  their  iniquity,”  His  home  affec- 


20 


tions  too,  were  warm  and  strong,  true  as  the  needle 
to  the  pole  in  filial  duty  and  fraternal  love,  so  that 
in  his  loved  home  he  ever  found  his  highest  happi¬ 
ness,  and  in  a  parent’s  smile,  a  sister’s  love,  his 
earthly  paradise  and  rest.  But  those  affections 
now  are  purified  and  strengthened,  and  transferred 
from  earth,  to  his  new  home  eternal  in  the  heavens, 
the  mansion  in  his  Father’s  house  above,  where  one 
by  one,  he  waits  to  welcome  the  loved  ones  of  his 
cherished  home  on  earth,  when  they  shall  meet  to 
part  no  more,  “  a  happy  family  in  heaven.” 

The  love  of  music  in  his  life  was  strong ;  and 
his  deep,  clear  voice,  was  often  raised  in  wel¬ 
come  strains,  and  turned  to  good  account  to  gra¬ 
tify  his  friends,  and  to  maintain  and  aid  the  higher 
praises  of  the  sanctuary.  When  he  drew  near  to 
death,  he  spoke  of  music  which  he  heard,  inaudible 
to  those  around,  and  with  his  trembling  voice  and 
failing  flesh,  he  strove  to  reach  the  unearthly 
strain.  It  may  be  that  the  song  of  the  Seraphim, 
or  the  high  praises  of  the  redeemed,  were  then  <■ 

wafted  to  his  ears,  to  raise  and  cheer  his  sinking 
heart,  or  it  may  have  been  the  mingling  voices  of  x 

the  holy  angels  waiting  round  his  dying  bed,  “  to 
carry  his  departing  spirit  into  Abraham’s  bosom.” 

In  any,  either  view,  it  was  a  meet,  sweet  closing  of 


21 


a  life  like  his,  and  a  soothing,  cheering  earnest,  of 
the  part  which  he  was  soon  to  take,  in  the  praises 
of  the  upper  sanctuary,  and  the  new  song  to  God 
and  the  Lamb  forever.  While  the  last  words, 
which  trembled  on  his  dying  lips,  “  my  heavenly 
Father,”  were  sweet,  and  cheering  too.  They  seem¬ 
ed  to  speak  of  filial  piety  and  filial  love,  which 
looked  beyond  the  earthly  to  the  heavenly,  as  if  he 
strove  to  say,  “  My  heavenly  Father,”  thou  hast 
loved  and  blessed  me  all  my  days  ;  thy  grace  has 
guided  and  thy  hand  has  saved ;  my  youthful  heart, 
and  hopes,  and  trust,  and  love,  have  been  in  thee, 
“my  heavenly  Father ;”  and  now  thou  callest,  and  I 
come  to  thee,  child  of  thy  care  and  love,  lamb  of 
thy  blood-bought  flock ;  receive  my  soul,  which 
thou  hast  made,  redeemed  and  saved ;  sustain  and 
strengthen  still  my  patient,  trusting,  trembling  spi¬ 
rit  ;  keep  far  my  foes,  give  peace,  and  bring  me 
to  my  heavenly  home. 

There  is  here  full  and  precious  comfort  for  his 
*  sorrowing  friends.  That  home  which  he  so  loved 

in  life  will  now  indeed  be  sad  and  desolate,  but 
T  ever  cheered  by  the  sweet,  soothing  memory  of 

his  calm  presence,  his  meek  devotion,  his  voice  of 
music,  his  heart  of  love,  his  happy  life,  his  peace¬ 
ful  death.  Seldom,  if  ever,  have  we  seen  anything 


22 


so  beautiful,  so  touching,  so  affecting,  so  conso¬ 
ling,  so  animating,  so  full  of  the  finer  feelings  of 
earth,  and  of  the  higher,  holier  thoughts  and  hopes 
of  heaven,  as  we  were  called  to  witness  in  his 
chamber  of  sickness,  and  by  his  bed  of  death. 
Then  “  let  us  lift  our  hearts  unto  the  Lord,”  and 
raise  our  weeping  eyes  and  trembling  hopes  where 
he  has  gone  before ;  for  we  may  not  doubt  that 
his  happy  spirit  has  “  ascended  to  his  Father  and 
our  Father,  to  his  God  and  our  God.”  There  let 
our  hearts  and  hopes  ascend.  Faith  points  the 
mourner’s  eye  to  brighter  worlds,  and  leads  the 
way.  Hope  stays  the  sinking  heart,  on  God  and 
heaven  ;  while  Patience  has  her  perfect  work,  in 
chastened  sorrow  and  submissive  love. 

“  Patience  accomplish  thy  labor,  accomplish  thy  work  of  affection. 

“  Sorrow  and  Silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endurance  is  godlike. 

“  Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love  till  the  heart  be  made  godlike ; 

“  Purified,  strengthened,  perfected,  and  rendered  more  worthy  of  heaven.” 

And  now  why  tarry  we  ?  Fain  would  we  linger 
here,  within  these  consecrated  walls,  where  his 
“  due  feet  loved  to  tread,”  and  where  he  knelt  so 
often,  in  meek  and  rapt  devotion.  Fain  would  we 
prolong  this  sad,  sweet  hour  of  sorrow  and  of 
hope,  the  quiet,  soothing  strains  of  comfort  and 
of  truth,  and  the  last  mournful  words  of  the  dirge 
and  the  burial.  But  on  we  must,  with  stricken 

sf 


23 


hearts  and  trusting  hopes  , slowly  and  sadly,  on  our 
weary  way  to  the  shade  and  the  rest  of  the 
sepulchre. 

Come  forth,  my  young  friends,  now  healthy  and 
strong,  and  do  your  sad  work  for  the  loved  and 
the  lost.  Ye  bear  a  precious  burden,  a  freighted 
treasure  of  fond  hopes  and  tender  love,  but  late 
erect,  and  hopeful,  and  bright,  and  beloved.  Ye 
bear  a  precious  treasure,  bought  by  the  blood  of 
Jesus,  and  ransomed  for  the  resurrection  and  for 
immortality.  Then  bear  him  sadly,  slowly,  from 
this  house  of  God,  to  his  lone,  quiet  resting-place, 
and  by  the  way  think  of  his  many  virtues  and  his 
early  piety,  of  his  exemplary  life  and  peaceful 
death.  Think  of  your  own  health  and  strength, 
so  frail  and  ready  to  fall ;  of  your  own  life,  so  un¬ 
certain  and  vain  ;  and  of  your  own  death,  so  sure, 
and  it  may  be  so  near.  And  while  you  heave  the 
secret  sigh,  think  also  and  often,  of  your  own 
need  of  that  Savior,  who  is  mighty  to  save,  and 
of  that  Christian  faith  and  hope  which  sustained 
our  loved  friend,  and  which  alone  can  give  you 
peace  in  death,  a  joyful  resurrection,  and  a  glorious 
immortality. 

It  may  help  you  to  realize  and  bring  home  these 
truths  so  affecting  and  needful,  if  we  give  you  a 


THE  UBHAHT  OF  THE 

Sr0  1  4 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUNOIS 


dirge,  solemn  and  beautiful,  which  he  wrote  for  a 
loved  classmate,  to  be  sung  at  his  grave.  Let  us 
take  up  the  strain,  use  his  own  words  to  honor 
him  in  death,  whom  we  so  loved  in  life,  and  thus 
sweetly  sing  his  peaceful  requiem  : 


With  reverent  voice,  Almighty  God, 

We  raise  our  mournful  dirge, 

While  sunk  beneath  thy  chastening  rod, 

And  death’s  relentless  scourge. 

A  comrade  loved,  has  left  us  now  ; 

Close,  brothers,  round  his  bier  ; 

Death’s  sable  wing  doth  shade  our  brow. 
Affection  draws  the  tear. 

The  choicest  wreaths  fond  hope  could  twine. 
Lie  mingled  with  the  clay  ; 

But  still  a  brighter  hope  doth  shine. 

And  heavenward  lights  the  way. 


Then  sleep,  thou  silent  slumberer,  sleep, 
Till  the  last  trump  shall  sound  ; 
May  God  in  heaven,  thy  spirit  keep, 
Where  endless  joys  are  found. 


